


Vivere Me Dices, Sed Sic Ut Vivere Nolim

by ornithomancy



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:32:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ornithomancy/pseuds/ornithomancy
Summary: Tatiana does not leave Pilsen at age ten, she does not join the US Army, and she does not join XCOM. Her life is not better for it.





	1. Forepast

**Author's Note:**

> Vivere Me Dices, Sed Sic Ut Vivere Nolim - Say That I Live, But So That I'd Rather Not Live
> 
> An edit and repost of a fic from tumblr, better known as Hunter AU or Hunter Bad End. This is _not_ a happy story.
> 
> Has three distinct parts: everything before the point of divergence, the "Crisis Averted End," and the "True End."

She can’t find it in herself to be as angry at Volk as usual when he appears at the haven. He had a knack at turning up at the most inopportune times and the loss of her haven marked perhaps the greatest of that; the first crack in her will. He is at least polite enough to wait until she is done talking to its leader before interrupting this time.

“Seems like some trouble has befallen you, Musilová,” he says, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Tatiana glares at him with as much frustration as she can muster. Unfortunately, exhaustion has worn her out and she is sure she does not look as threatening as she would like. “I don’t want to hear it Volikov.”

“I’m just offering you something more interesting to do with your life. Do you really want to stay in a shithole like this?” he asks, gesturing to the haven around them.

“It’s better than joining your group,” she snaps. “I’ve heard the rumors.”

She turns and tries to walk away, but Volk easily keeps pace with her. “Is it really better? I heard Anja just as you did. You’ve led one haven into being successfully burned down; she’s not going to let you destroy this one, too,” he says.

The words cut deep — enough for her to stop and grab Volk by the front of his coat. She drags him off of his feet and holds him so his head hovers a couple feet off the ground. “It’s not my fault my haven was destroyed. Say that again and I'll prove itto you,” she hisses lowly. She gives him a shake in warning. “I’ll manage here fine. You can go back to your people and stop bothering me.”

Volk smirks at her. "Will you?"

Tatiana drops him to the ground.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans. He reaches out and grabs her ankle before she can escape. “Just _listen_ to me for a minute. Not all the rumors you’ve heard are true.”

Reluctantly, she stops and waits, arms crossed. Volk takes his time to return to his feet and dust his coat off, apparently enjoying not being assaulted for once.

_“Yes,_ we’ve tried to eat just about anything under the sun, but my people were _starving_ because types like you claimed all the decent hunting grounds and farmland for havens. We’ve made do in the snow, but you only have so many options during harsh winters. What would you do in the face of all your people starving?”

Tatiana is silent, but some of the anger behind her glare softens.

“I think we’re alike, you and I. Neither of us can settle for being in one place for long, at least not without having some semblance of influence. With the Reapers, you can have both. Help keep the rest in line and keep your feet moving,” he offers. “You don’t have to settle down and try to live under someone else’s rule.”

She eyes him warily. “I’d still have to live under _your_ rule,” she says lowly. "And I don't have fond memories of Russian dictators."

“You’ve more worldly experience than me. I’d value any opinion you offered,” he replies, flashing a smile. “We could work together well, I think.”

She hesitates. “I’m not good at stealth.”

“And plenty Reapers can’t shoot. We all have things to work on.”

“Your first lesson will be in leadership, then,” she says. She turns and starts to stalk off.

Volk stares dumbfounded at her for a moment, then runs to catch up. “So you’re coming? You actually agreed to join.”

_“Yes,”_ she says, exasperated. “Now let me rest for one night with my survivors and we can leave in the morning,  _Volk.”_

He comes to a stop and grins at her retreating form. “Have a good night, Táňa,” he calls.

* * *

Bradford looks back and forth between the two Reapers warily. Volk, he knew he could trust, but he didn’t quite know how to feel about the sudden appointment of a new second in command. It didn’t help that the woman kept looking at him as though she were picking him apart.

“John, Tatiana. Tatiana, John,” Volk introduces gruffly, placing a glass in front of each of them. “Her word is as good as law if you can’t contact me.”

“I thought you were more selective when it came to recruiting people, nevermind _promoting_ people,” Bradford says, glancing briefly at Tatiana before taking a drink.

Tatiana rolls her eyes and mutters something he cannot understand. Volk says something back in what he recognizes as Russian and it seems to put her at ease. She picks up her glass and drinks.

“I’ve been trying to recruit Táňa for years. She’s a perfect fit for the Reapers: a great shot, an excellent leader, ruthless — of course, not as good as I am,” he says.

Tatiana gives him a thump on the shoulder. “Do not start this boasting again,” she warns lowly. She turns her attention back to Bradford and offers him a smile. “I was military and a better shot than him. He wanted me to help train his people. Any thing else is just a bonus for him.”

“Military?” Bradford asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Czech Military. I worked with the UN and NATO, too.” She looks up and down him for a moment, then hides her expression behind her drink. “What did you do before this? Something interesting for Volk to be friends with you.”

“US Navy, and then XCOM,” he starts.

The look of disgust on her face makes him stop. Tatiana looks at Volk and says something lowly in Russian, her grip on her glass becoming bone white.

“You can trust him,” Volk says pointedly. “Let the man explain.”

Bradford hesitates for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed. “What do you want to know?”

She turns her attention back to him, her expression guarded. “Your XCOM let my home burn. I was in Prague when the aliens came. I saw my friends and squad die and I could not save them, no matter what I did. We called for help, but your people never came,” she spits. "I want  _answers."_

Bradford sighs, and begins to regale her about the Commander, the Council, and how XCOM was doomed from the beginning. When he’s done, Tatiana seems subdued, at the very least.

“And now John is a friend to all Reapers,” Volk says, giving her a pointed glance.

Tatiana huffs and looks directly at Bradford. “You? I’ll accept. Don’t expect me to welcome this idiot Commander of yours, though,” she says.

“That won’t be an issue,” Bradford assures.

* * *

Volk is nowhere to be found the next time Bradford stops by the Reapers' base. Instead, Tatiana is handing out orders and signing off on reports as though it were all second nature to her.

“You run a good organization,” he says when they sit down for dinner on his first full day with them. “Volk’s lucky he found someone as competent as you are.”

“He is,” she replies matter-of-factly. “He is lucky I didn't go down with my haven or that no one else offered me a way out first.”

He raises an eyebrow and observes the way the firelight hits her face for a quiet moment. “Would you really have left with the first person that asked? Why not just stay in the new haven?”

“Volk was right; I couldn't stay in one place for long. It would have only been a matter of time until I left. I thought it best to prevent another Russian dictator from taking over,” she explains, shrugging.

"Understandable, about Russian dictators," he muses. He hopes the flickering light from the fire hides his slight flush. “It’s not as though you’re traveling much here, though. Is it really better?”

She laughs. “No, but I can lead like I did in the army. It keeps me content.”

Bradford takes a drink to give himself a moment to think — and, perhaps, to give him just a hair’s breadth more courage. “Do you ever go on missions yourself? Or are you here usually?”

“I will go on missions if there is no one else. I am not the stealthiest. More often than not, I will be here, giving commands.”

“I might have to stop by more often, then, and visit,” he says, offering her a smile.

She returns it with one of her own, and with a glint of something dark in her eye. “I'd enjoy that.”

* * *

She finds Elena at their shooting range, testing a few modifications to her rifle. Tatiana lingers, waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. Elena takes her sweet time with shooting, an almost knowing grin on her face.

At last, she sets her rifle down. Tatiana approaches, rapping her knuckles against the wall to signal her presence.

Elena turns and feigns surprise at her superior’s appearance. “Has something come up Táňa?” she asks. “Or are you just trying to escape Volk, too?”

A faint grin twitches at the corners of her mouth, but she stays mostly serious. “I was hoping you knew where Robyn had disappeared off to,” Tatiana asks. “I have a mission that I think would suit her.”

“I don’t know _where,_ but she is almost certainly out bothering her friend,” Elena retorts with a laugh. She picks up her rifle again and begins to fiddle with a few parts of it. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Tatiana sighs with something almost like amusement behind it. “It’s fine, I didn’t expect to hear anything different,” she assures. She glances down at her rifle, then back up at Elena. “Do you need help with your rifle?”

She pauses to think for a second, then offers her the rifle. “The trigger feels a bit odd, but I don’t think I damaged it during my alterations,” she explains.

Tatiana takes the rifle and gives it a closer look. After a moment, she grabs the tools from the top of the barrier and gets to work. She doesn’t notice Elena's amused expression from the corner of her eye.

Elena leans against the barrier and watches her for just a moment before speaking. “I thought you hated XCOM.”

“I do,” Tatiana replies easily, not so much as glancing up from the rifle.

“Doesn’t seem that way to me. Or to a lot of us, actually,” Elena muses. Her voice lilts with amusement, and Tatiana does not need to look up to see her grin.

A frown twitches at the corners of her own lips. “What makes you say that?”

“You sure do seem to like it when Central stops by. And he’s stopped more times in the past two months than I think I’ve ever seen him around before,” Elena says.

Her words aren’t accusatory, but they put Tatiana on the defensive nonetheless. “Just because I hate XCOM does not mean I can’t like him,” she retorts.

“I think you more than like him.”

Tatiana freezes for a heartbeat, then shoots a flat glare at Elena.

She sighs exasperatedly and with a dramatic flair. “It’s not like either of you are subtle about it, Táňa. And it’s not like anyone can keep secrets in a camp full of Reapers. Gathering rumors is what we _do,”_ Elena retorts.

“That doesn’t give you all free reign to talk about my personal life.”

“It’s hard to ignore,” Elena shoots back.

Tatiana levels another glare at her.

“You two are cute, that’s all I’m saying. I’m just _surprised_ you went with XCOM.”

Her glare softens, and after a second she returns her attention to the rifle. Despite herself, she can feel the corners of her lips curling upwards. “You never know what life will give you sometimes. Sometimes it’s… good. Sometimes it’s aliens,” she muses.

“True,” Elena agrees. “With any hope, we have more good things coming.”

“We can hope,” Tatiana agrees.

* * *

Comforts are few and far between in the apocalypse, so Tatiana will take hers where she can get them. Many are related to her skills, where she knows she can always find success: training their recruits, devising new strategies, arguing with Volk. Some are more mundane: sharing stories of home and the old world, feeding the errant cats that seemed to flock to their base.

Somewhere along the line, her greatest comfort had become Bradford’s regular visits. She can’t say when or why, but some things are best left unquestioned.

They try to maintain the appearance of professionalism in public, but bonfires and alcohol make it a particularly difficult task.

He leans against her, cheek pressed into her coat’s fur collar. Between the fire, their drinks, and the heat radiating off of the two of them, she is almost overheating.

She thinks, briefly, that she could get used to life like this. A life with _him_. Tatiana turns her head and presses a kiss into Bradford’s hair.

As if psychic, he speaks up. “Will it always be like this?”

“What do you mean, milačku?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t want to keep leaving you. Gets harder every time,” he mumbles.

She sighs and lifts a hand to card through his hair. “Too much of the resistance depends on you for you to stay here.”

He leans into her touch. “You could leave the Reapers.”

“I have a duty to these people. I can’t just abandon them,” she says firmly.

He lifts his head and presses a kiss to her lips. “You should prioritize yourself for once.”

Silence settles over them for a few minutes, sapping the heat from between them and letting them both to stew in their thoughts.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she says at last, standing up. She hauls one of his arms over her shoulders and pulls him to his feet.

They get halfway across camp with only a few knowing looks in their direction before they're finally interrupted. “Someone drink a bit too much?” Volk asks, sauntering over to them. “Need help?”

“I can manage,” Tatiana assures him. She takes a step forwards, then hesitates, thinking. At last, she turns her head to look at him again. “I need to discuss something with you in the morning.”

Volk doesn't reply for just a heartbeat too long, then hides it with a wide grin. “Of course. Don’t do anything you’ll regret by then!” he says, winking at her.

She shakes her head and moves on. Her bed is an all too ideal place to sort out her thoughts, even with Bradford’s warmth distracting her. Eventually she manages to fall asleep with something resembling a plan in place.

In the morning she is awoken by kisses peppering her jawline and Bradford practically wrapped around her body.

“You're like a puppy,” she grumbles, rolling over to face him. “Annoying, but too cute.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

Unable to keep grumbling, she grins and presses a kiss to his lips. Another silence settles over them, like another warm blanket on the bed instead of the almost cold silence from the night before. She lets it linger as long as they can, but she refuses to admit that she is  _afraid._

“I’m going to teach Outrider how to fill my position,” Tatiana says at last, tearing away the silence and leaving them both exposed. “She learns quickly; she will be a good second.”

Bradford leans back a bit so he can look her in the eye, a glimmer of hope in his. “Is this just so you have a replacement — just in case?” he asks tentatively. "Or is it — ?"

“I don’t know yet.”

He leans back in and kisses her. She tightens her arms around him and thinks that she cannot let go again.

* * *

Volk isn't  _nervous_  per se, but it wasn’t like Tatiana to just vanish in the middle of the day. Much less vanishing without warning someone, as Robyn was prone to do. She wasn’t in the kitchens, nor in their makeshift shooting range. None of the other Reapers currently at base seemed worried about her disappearance, either. Outrider was shaping up to be a capable second in command, but she was not second yet, and he had important news to discuss.

He doesn’t hear anything from her quarters as he approaches it, so he thinks nothing wrong of just throwing the door open.

Tatiana sits in Bradford’s lap, one arm wrapped around his shoulders to press their bare bodies together. His mouth is on her throat, drawing a moan from her, though it’s cut short by his intrusion.

_“Zmrde!”_ she shouts, almost falling backwards. She swipes a boot off the floor and chucks it directly at his head. “Didn't your mother teach you to knock?”

The boot hits him in the jaw.

Bradford has enough sense to grab a loose sheet from the bed and draw it up to try and cover the two of them as they untangle themselves. “Beat it, Volk,” he says lowly.

He turns and slams the door shut behind him. Just in time, as he hears the thump of another boot hitting the door where his head had been.

* * *

Bradford rests his head against Tatiana’s shoulder and wraps an arm around her hip. Despite his attention, she continues to tend to her rifle.

“I won’t be gone very long,” she assures softly.

He frowns at her, though she doesn’t see it. “You’re putting yourself into danger, that’s more than enough reason for me to start worrying.”

“I’ll be fine. I have learned how to be stealthy by now.”

“Doesn’t Volk have someone else to send?” he asks, giving her a squeeze. “Someone better at laying low.”

“He does. I will not allow it,” she states, quiet but no less firm. She slots two parts of her rifle back together and sets it down to look at him. She snakes an arm out to loop around his shoulders and brings her other hand up to cup his cheek. “I can’t in good conscience send someone else out for this mission. It's too dangerous.”

"Then it's too dangerous for you, too, isn't it? Why put his second in command at risk when you could just ignore this mission altogether?"

She's silent as she looks at him, offering him only a weak smile that tries to be reassuring.

He considers his options for a moment, at a loss. When the moment’s passed, he sighs, his shoulders slumping with it. “Nothing I say will convince you to change your mind, will it?”

“Sorry, milačku.”

He leans in for a kiss.

* * *

She still has her pistol, so even though she’s trapped, Tatiana is not truly _trapped._  She would prefer to save the bullets should things get hopeless and for now, there was still the faintest possibility she could escape alive and return to the Reapers. It's slim, but the possibility is there.

If nothing else, she just hopes that Volk will notice her disappearance sooner rather than later.

Alien voices shout from nearby. Tatiana ducks around a corner and presses herself against the wall, cursing under her breath. She curses ADVENT and the aliens, for taking over her home, Volk, for insisting on such a dangerous mission, and she curses herself, for not listening to Central when she had the chance. She spits them out like prayers to some cruel god, then climbs a nearby downspout to get a height advantage over her pursuers. 

Once atop the building, she draws her rifle, grateful now more than ever that it was not one of the Vektors that Volk _insisted_ on using, but her own from her army days. She needed the extra power if she were to have any hope of life.

As quietly as she can, she sets up and takes aim. She does what she can to calm herself down, but her heart is pounding as loud as footsteps in her chest, and she thinks that alone might give her position away. She still manages to steady her aim and fire the moment one of the ADVENT troopers is in view.

Their head snaps back with a spray of red.  _Victory_ _._

Before she can take aim at the next, the butt of a rifle smashes into the back of her head and plunges her into darkness.


	2. Crisis Averted Part 1

She is collapsed on a cot when they find her in one of ADVENT’s prisons. For the time that she'd been gone, she certainly didn't show it, much to Bradford and Volk's fears. It's unnerving, but neither of them want to consider the reasons for her apparent health. Bradford checks her quickly but finds no wounds other than a few faded faded track marks on her inner arm. The thought of her being sedated does not ease the worry in his gut from her apparent health.

He carefully lifts Tatiana’s lifeless form over his shoulder. Once he’s sure she’s secure, he turns to Volk to lead the way out of the compound.

By some miracle, they make it out undetected. Outrider rendezvous with them not far from the Reaper camp, Tatiana’s rifle slung over her back crossed over her own. “I found all that I could,” she tells the men, patting a satchel on her hip.

The three settle into the camp to grab what little rest they can. Bradford takes vigil beside Tatiana’s sleeping form in lieu of resting himself.

Volk sticks his head into their tent and eyes him knowingly. “We’ll have to set out again in the morning. Too close to that damn compound,” he warns. “Don’t expect me to carry you.”

“I don’t,” he assures.

Volk considers them for a second longer, then disappears to leave them be.

Bradford makes himself as comfortable as he can, sure that it’s going to be a long night.

He misses the first signs; the twitching fingers, the slight change in her expression, the shift in her breathing. Only when Tatiana’s hand moves and thumps against the ground does he finally snap completely awake again.

“Hey,” Bradford murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face.

Even as weak and groggy as she is, Tatiana flinches away from the contact.

His his heart sinks like a piece of lead. “You’re safe now, Tanya. You’re safe,” he assures.

She manages to crack her eyes open, either the sight of him or the sound of his voice seeming to pierce through the fog in her mind. “John?” she says weakly. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Definitely alive.”

“Shit.”

Words fail him, so he reaches out to take her hand to comfort her instead.

“I can’t go back,” she groans after a few minutes.

“No one’s getting captured again. If Volk suggests something that risky again, I’ll kill him myself.”

She shakes her head, stopping abruptly to wince. Before explaining, she takes a moment to breathe deeply to stop the spinning and squeeze his hand. “I can’t go back to the Reapers,” she says weakly.

He pauses, unsure how to react. “Volk is here, you two can discuss that in the morning,” he offers. “Until then, you should rest.”

She sighs, more of a slump and weak exhale than anything else, and extends her free hand shakily towards him. He needs no other invitation to lay down beside her to get the rest they both so desperately need.

She rolls onto her side and presses her face into his chest.

They wake in the morning, both feeling better rested than they had in weeks, despite the hard ground. Tatiana is far more cognizant, whatever sedative finally working its way out of her system. Still, the other Reapers do not let her help clean up camp.

She sits off to the side, her meager bag of belongings slung over her back without her rifle. When Volk is finally free, finished with his work, she approaches.

“I'm not returning,” she states.

Volk stares at Tatiana, dumbfounded, as the other Reapers finish packing up camp. He holds her rifle, as though he were just about to hand it over to her.

“You’re not serious,” he says incredulously.

“I am serious,” she replies gruffly. “I will not go back.”

“You’d just abandon our people? After everything we’ve done?”

Her eyes darken and something unknowable glints behind them, sending a chill down Volk’s spine. “Believe me when I say it is safer for me to stay away from Reaper camps from now on. Safer for all of you, that is. Outrider has shadowed me enough, she can take over my duties as second,” she says, glancing over at her.

Outrider stills at her mention, but her mask hides any emotion. She returns to packing up camp without interrupting their conversation.

“Traveling with John isn’t going to be any safer for you. ADVENT's actively looking for him,” Volk says pointedly. He offers her rifle to her again more intently. “You'll have more protection if you stay with us.”

“I will not go with him, either.”

Both men look at her in disbelieve. _“What?”_

She crosses her arms and builds up her walls with the action. “Leave me at the nearest haven. I will find a way to manage.”

Bradford crosses over to them to properly join the conversation. “Are you sure that’s the safest option?” he asks.

“It is,” she assures softly. Her entire posture wilts in his presence, but she does not back down. “They will expect me to return to the Reapers. They will not expect me to go somewhere I cannot lead or fight from. Everyone will be safer if I hide, at least for a little while.”

They share a look, then both turn to look at Volk. He crosses his arms and sighs. “If you’re certain. When you decide the time is right, you’ll always have a place among the Reapers,” he says.

Tatiana offers him a slight nod. “Thank you, Volk.”

He reluctantly slings her rifle over his back and goes to make sure everything was ready for them to depart.

Bradford takes the opportunity to pull Tatiana into a hug. “I wish you’d reconsider,” he murmurs.

“It is safer like this,” she says again. Her voice lacks the same conviction it had just moments earlier, but he doesn't press. Nevertheless, she loops her arms around him as well and gives him a tight squeeze.

“I’ll visit, when I can.”

She leans in to steal a kiss. “Děkuji.”

* * *

They insist on finding a haven large enough to ensure some amount of safety although Tatiana assures them that any haven will do just fine. It takes a little bit, but eventually they find a haven to everyone’s liking.

All of the goodbyes, save for one, are short.

Tatiana wastes no time in introducing herself to the leadership within the haven once her friends leave. They are understandably cautious of a haven leader turned Reaper turned refugee after being captured by ADVENT, but they are at least willing to hear her tale. They may still be wary by the end of it — that she doesn’t care for. All she needs is a place to stay and they are willing to give her that much. She knows she is not completely safe here, not completely safe  _anywhere,_ but any amount of safety the haven offers her is a welcome relief.

Settling back into haven life is a slow, unwelcome process that almost makes her consider running off again.

The lack of decision making power she can handle, at least so she thinks. More than once she has to walk away from discussions before her anger gets the better of her. It hurts, but she understands. She is a failed Reaper, a failed haven leader — not someone that could be easily trusted. It is at least something that, with time, can be fixed. Supposing, of course, she can stay for that long.

She however, cannot quite deal with the restlessness in conjunction. Every time a raid is being planned she nearly stands to volunteer to lead, to plan, to do _anything_ to get her out of the haven for a little bit, but she must hold herself back. Trying to strike at ADVENT now was risking simply handing herself back over. She could not do that to the haven dwellers, to Volk and the Reapers, to  _John,_ so she forces herself to sit and wait.

Her hands are tied with what she can do to help the haven, and that does not help the rest of its residents to trust her. She is, at least, willing to talk about most of her history, which helps. However, she is reluctant to speak too much about the habits of the Reapers for their own safety.

And, of course, she refuses to speak about her time in captivity, which does nothing to ease the haven dweller’s worries about her.

Still, she finds ways to manage and to cope, even if she would rather not. She’d do what she needs to keep the rest of the Reapers safe and, most importantly, to keep John safe.

Tatiana could only hope that she could keep herself safe as well, but she knew her time being safe would always be limited.

Her grandmother always used to say that she knew when storms were coming in her bones, from old wounds improperly healed. She never quite believed her until she broke her arm for the second time and it ached all winter, just like they do now.

She wishes that this were just a storm on the horizon.

She wakes in the morning and knows — not just in her bones but in her very being — that disaster is coming, and it’s coming for _her._

Tatiana shoves her belongings into her bag before anyone else can wake up. If disaster is truly on it’s way then she needs to be prepared. With any hope, the feeling was just nothing. It’s an empty hope though, she knows. Ever since John and Volk had rescued her two months prior, she was keenly aware of _their_ presence.

She crawls out of bed she warns the guard on duty about her bad feeling. It’s not much, but she hopes that even the slightest warning will help keep some people alive.

The day goes on as normal, or at least as normal as it can be with a sense of dread pulling at her gut. It’s hard to ignore, and she wants to vomit for most of the day, but Tatiana manages, just as she’s always done.

The storm breaks just after lunch.

They barely get any warning before the first ADVENT ship appears in the sky, firebombing the center of their haven. Three transports arrive just after, dropping more troops than their meager defenses could handle.

Tatiana runs for the quarters to grab her bag. A wave of psionic energy washes over the entire encampment, though she is likely the only one to feel it, and certainly the only one to fall to her knees because of it.

_“At last I have found you, Sister.”_

The distaste in his voice is palpable as he spits out the last word, but it gives her enough spite to get to her feet again and keep running. A round from an ADVENT Captain clips her shoulder, but doesn’t stop her. She makes it to the quarters with only minor scratches otherwise and easily slings her bag over her shoulder.

She hears the distinct sound of psionic energy exploding and the blood curdling scream of death. The sounds make her stomach drop, but she cannot look back now. She leaps out the nearest window and bolts for the woods as fast as she can.

_“Time to come out of the shadows.”_

The Warlock’s voice reverberates across the haven once more, but she does not let him stop her again. If she could escape in time then there was the slightest chance he would stop his assault and lives would be saved. She doesn’t even pause to think about which direction she needs to go once she’s far enough away.

 _West,_ she thinks. _John went west._

* * *

By the next morning, all the scratches from vaulting through a broken window and running through the brush have healed over. The skin on her arms and legs looks as good as new, only covered by blackened blood.

The wound on her shoulder has stopped bleeding and crusted over on its own. There’s a first aid kit in her bag, but she does not bother to use it — partially out of spite and partially out of curiosity.

It’s a scar by nightfall.

When she heads out again at the next dawn, there is no indication that she was ever shot at all.

* * *

It does not take her long before she decides to stop searching for John. Having someone to travel with would make her safer, yes, but she could not condemn her partners to the death and ruin that follows her like a shadow.

ADVENT follows her without stop, she knows that much. Tatiana can sense the Warlock at the very edges of her mind, like a headache that will never go away. It at least gives her a constant reminder to keep moving, no matter what.

She stops in at havens where she can, getting some much needed rest and recovery. She quickly learns that if she stays in one place for more than a handful of days, her pursuers will catch up and slaughter everyone that dared help her. The guilt weighs her down, but she cannot let it stop her.

Tatiana forges on alone, doing her best to stay just ahead of death, even if it means isolating herself from the people she loves so much.

She wants to believe it’s better this way.

She moves on to haven after haven, stopping for only a few days at each. She is careful not to give too much information about herself, nothing that could get back to ADVENT and allow them to locate her.

Nothing that could get back to John and let him put himself in danger looking for her.

Tatiana wakes in a cold sweat to a dark room, surrounded by the sleeping forms of the rest of the haven she’s currently taking refuge in. She rubs her hands over her face and takes a moment to take stock of her being. She is alive, she is free, and she is _safe._

Or, at least, she is as safe as she can be while on the run.

Something painful twists in her chest, something making her want to scream and tear herself apart until nothing can hurt again. It is, unfortunately, not the tug of oncoming doom that she has become so miserably accustomed to. It’s little more than a simple nightmare, an idea that haunts her at the edges of her mind.

She has not seen her blood since the rescue, but she can only assume she still bleeds a humanly red and not the sickly orange of the aliens ilk. _Fairly._

Her wounds heal fast enough that by the time she can stop to tend to them, all the blood has dried and blacked and the cut itself healed over to perfect skin. She washes the blood off and does not look closely at the water as it runs off, and that is all the care she needs.

_It’s better this way._

She leaves the haven the following morning, just in case.

* * *

Of all the people he expects to run into at a haven in northern Africa, Tatiana is at the very end of the list. Bradford does a double take when he spots her and her distinctive coat among the haven dwellers.

He pushes through the crowds and grabs her arm before she notices him. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

She flinches at the contact, but turns and looks just as surprised to see him as he is to see her. “I was just passing through,” she explains sheepishly.

The answer doesn’t convince him, but he doesn’t push for the moment. He takes the opportunity to glance her over. She looks tired but otherwise uninjured, despite still lacking her weapons. “Is everything alright?” he asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” she assures too quickly. She hesitates for a moment, then wraps her arms around him in a hug. “It’s good to see you again, though.”

“It’s been too long,” he agrees, hugging back. When they separate he keeps his hands on her arms, unwilling to let her go just yet. “Are you heading back to the Reapers? Or just traveling on your own?”

A frown twitches at the corners of her mouth. “Just traveling.”

He hesitates for a moment, his expression softening. “Come with me?” he asks.

Tatiana shakes her head. “It’s still too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than traveling alone without any weapons?”

She has the audacity to look ashamed at that.

“I can defend both of us,” he assures.

Her frown deepens. After a moment she grabs a handful of his coat and pulls him away to an out of the way area so no one can overhear them. “I’m being hunted, and everyone who’s helped me has been hurt,” she explains quietly. “I can’t let that happen to you.”

“I’m not helpless,” he retorts. He lays his hands over hers and give them a reassuring squeeze. “And neither are you, if you pick up a rifle again.”

She shakes her head furiously. “You won’t be able to stop this,” she insists. She looks him in the eye and he thinks he can spot tears in the corners of hers. “Have you heard anything about the ‘Chosen’?”

His heart skips a beat at the mention. “Only rumors. I want to believe it’s just fear mongering.”

“It’s real, and he’s coming for me.”

He reaches up to cup her face in his hands. “So travel with me. We can keep moving, and if trouble starts, I can defend us,” he assures. “We’ll survive.”

She shakes her head and shudders as though she’s about to sob. To prevent it, she takes a few deep breaths and squeezes her eyes shut. “You’re not going to let me leave this haven alone, are you?” she asks once she’s regained some semblance of control.

“Absolutely not.”

Despite everything, she chuckles. “Miluji tě.”

He leans in and kisses her.

* * *

Volk is their first stop once they set off again. Tatiana resents the mere idea of touching a rifle again, but he will not allow her to keep traveling without a way to defend herself. Bradford has seen what happens when she’s handed an assault rifle, and it’s nothing compared to what she can do with a sniper rifle and a pistol.

He does not expect Volk to be waiting for them near the edge of the Reaper’s headquarters when they arrive. He waves a greeting, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Tatiana tense.

“It’s good to see you again,” Volk greets. He eyes Tatiana, looking almost worried. “Both of you.”

“Same to you. Unfortunately we can’t stay for long, though,” Bradford says. “We just wanted to gather some supplies, see if there were any good rumors about.”

Volk nods and turns to lead them into the base. “Is it too hopeful for me to ask if you’re here to stay, Táňa?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“I’m staying with John,” she says firmly. “I will not get anyone else involved if I can help it.”

“So, that _thing_ is still hunting you down then?”

Tatiana blanches and stops in her tracks. “How do you know that?” she growls.

The men stop and Volk turns to face the two of them. “I wasn’t going to leave you unprotected entirely. I asked some Reapers to keep an eye on your haven. They told me you escaped unharmed from it at the first haven, and that at least three more suffered a similar fate in the time since,” he explains shortly. “I’m glad to see you’ve survived this long.”

“Your people never bothered to try and help defend those havens?” she snaps.

“You were there. You know it would have just been more casualties for that _thing.”_

The accusation quells the fire building in her eyes. After a second, she motions for them to keep walking.

“Does this mean we can count on the Reapers if we run into any?” Bradford asks as they continue. “Having a few people out there we can trust unconditionally would help.”

“Of course! To you two, my people will remain loyal. You’re a friend, John, and Táňa will always be a Reaper,” Volk calls cheerfully over his shoulder. “What sort of supplies are you in need of?”

“Food, water, some vodka if you can bear to part with some,” he replies casually. “Mostly I wanted to retrieve Tanya’s weapons.”

Volk laughs. “You ask almost nothing of me, John. You’ll have everything you need.”

He leads them to what can only be called Volk’s office with the heavy table acting as a desk and the communications terminal sat upon it. Tatiana and Bradford eye the new taxidermied heads garishly decorating the wall that had been added since they were last there.

From a closet, Volk pulls out the items she had left with him when first settling into the haven. Despite the time passed, her rifle, pistol, and knife all look as good as new.

“Thank you,” she says tentatively. She clips the pistol and knife onto her belt quickly, as if they’d burn her if she held them for too long. The rifle she is a bit more delicate with, pulling an old towel out from her bag to wrap it in. Once she’s done, she does not sling it over her back as usual, but instead holds it in her hands, careful only to touch the towel.

“How long do you intend on staying?” Volk asks as she prepares her weapons. “At least stay for breakfast.”

“If you’ll have us, we’d like to stay until tomorrow evening,” Bradford replies.

Volk clasps him on the shoulder. “You can stay as long as you like, even with that _thing_ hunting you.”

“Not past tomorrow evening,” Tatiana warns.

Volk nods, but before he can say anything the door to his office opens and Outrider appears in the doorway. She freezes at the sight of the three of them. Her gaze falls to Tatiana and a trace of a smile forms on her expression.

“I did not expect to see you again,” she says once she’s found her voice again. “I’m relieved to see you’re still okay.”

Tatiana smiles and affixes her rifle to her back carefully. She crosses over to the doorway in a few strides and swipes the other up into a hug. “I missed you, too, Outrider.”

Bradford thinks he might be imagining it, but it looks as though Outrider leans into the embrace.

When they part, both women do their best to fall back into a more professional mindset. “Are you staying for supper?” Outrider asks. “I have some things to discuss with Volk, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to catch up.”

Tatiana glances over her shoulder at Bradford, then back to Outrider. “We’ll be here for a couple days,” she agrees.

* * *

The Warlock chases them like a shadow, casting the places they visit into darkness within days of their passing through. Rumors that the appearance of the two of them are an omen of destruction circulate through the havens, but most are willing to take the risk for Bradford’s connections.

Most, but not all. Other havens are less kind and they are quickly escorted away at gunpoint. When it happens, they set up camp a safe distance away to try to get the rest they so desperately need and plan to move on to the next haven as fast as they can.

They are not always so lucky.

Tatiana wakes with a jolt and grabs for her bag. She starts shoving anything laying out into it, not caring for any sense of organization.

The sudden movement drags Bradford back into full consciousness. “You don’t need to be up yet,” he says.

“We have to get moving,” she orders. “As quickly as possible.”

He stares at her for a moment longer, then grabs his belongings as well. With the two of them working together they break down camp in a matter of minutes.

Bradford stomps out any remains of the fire and glances up at Tatiana. She holds her rifle in her hands, freed from its wrappings. She stares at it for a moment, then slings it over her back along with her bag.

“Got everything?” he asks.

She taps her pistol and knife, and judges the weight of her bag on her shoulders. At last, she nods.

Bradford clips his rifle to his belt and offers a hand to Tatiana. She takes it, and together they set off for the next haven as fast as their feet will take them.

Their fastest is not fast enough.

The Warlock makes his presence known with a wave of psionic energy that only just doesn’t knock them off of their feet.

_“It’s been too long, Sister.”_

Bradford draws his gun in preparation. Tatiana tugs on his hand to keep him moving.

“You can’t kill him,” she whispers harshly. “We have to keep moving.”

“We need to do something to get distance on him otherwise —”

A shot rings out and Tatiana drags Bradford out of the way. A branch falls to the ground where they were just standing. Through the trees, they can see a flash of something purple.

“There will be no more running,” the Warlock says. He approaches them, holstering his gun once more. “Do make it easy and give yourself over.”

Tatiana spits at him. Bradford raises his rifle and fires, hitting the Warlock in the chest. The bullets barely seem to faze the creature. Still, it makes him pause enough to touch the wound, giving Tatiana a chance to grab Bradford’s arm and run.

Behind them the Warlock shouts, but there is no sound of pursuing footsteps. Instead, Tatiana feels a presence pressing at the edges of her mind, insisting on entering. It's not the strongest she's ever felt, so she knows she can fight him as long as she can focus. She shoves Bradford forwards to make sure he wasn’t as risk, then pushes back against it.

The Warlock tries but cannot press into her mind. The effort of fighting back causes her to lose her balance. She tumbles over a log and lands face first in the dirt.

John stops and grabs her arm to help haul her up. She shakes her head and tries to push him forwards once more.

Tatiana opens her mouth to tell him off, but another shot drowns the words out. Tatiana stiffens, the slumps slightly in John’s grip. Something hot and wet blossoms from a burning pain in her shoulder blade.

She shoves with her good arm, but John only tightens his grip on her. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” she grunts.

“I won’t let you get captured again,” he says firmly. He adjusts his grip on his gun with his free hand and starts trying to pull her away.

She gives in and follows reluctantly, but she knows they cannot outrun the Warlock, not like this.

“I was told how much of a fighter you were, Sister,” the Warlock says, teleporting in just ahead of them. He stares down at Tatiana, hate and disgust evident in his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d try to run for so long.”

John wastes no time in taking aim and shooting him again.

The Warlock steps back, stunned. He recovers before they can move and sends a wave of psionic energy directed at them.

John falls to his knees, but Tatiana manages to stay standing.

The Warlock stalks forward, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Tatiana takes a few steps away from him and swings her rifle off of her back. She presses it to her shoulder and glances through her scope for only a split second, then fires.

The Warlock screeches and brings his hands to his face. From between his fingers they can see that where there was once an eye was now only a bloody pit.

He shouts something in the aliens’ language, then disappears in a torrent of energy.

Only once silence falls over the forest once more does Tatiana finally relax. She slings her rifle back into place and steps back over to help him to his feet. “Are you alright?” she asks softly.

He looks up at her with a mixture of relief and confusion and a slight amount of fear that she pretends to not notice. “I’m not the one that got shot. Let me take a look at that,” he says once he’s recovered. He holsters his rifle again and giving her a nudge to sit down.

She resists and pulls away quickly. “I’ll be fine for now. We can make it to the next haven before nightfall if we keep moving.”

“You got _shot.”_

“Barely!”

_“Tanya.”_

She hesitates for a few moments, then mutters something unintelligible under her breath. Nonetheless, she sets her bag and rifle on the ground. She steps back over to the log she had tripped over and sits down, not once meeting his eye as she does so.

John follows and sits behind her, digging his first aid kit out of his bag. She pulls her shirt off to let him clean the wound easily. Before he can begin, though, he finds that it’s already stopped bleeding on its own. He stares at it for a moment, then digs the bullet out. No more blood starts flowing with it. If he stares at the wound closely enough, he almost thinks he can see it starting to knit itself back together.

“I can explain,” Tatiana offers quietly after minutes of silence.

“Is this why he keeps referring to you as his sister?”

She tenses for a moment, then lets her body slump as she sighs. ”Please don’t hate me,” she says, voice barely stronger than a whisper.

* * *

They do not speak to each other as they travel other than to give a few short instructions, voices hoarse from screaming. When they get to the next haven, they fall asleep in different cots.

Tatiana wakes early with the intent to escape and begin travelling on her own once more. Instead, she finds John pressed against her, his head on her shoulder just like always. Her slight movements are enough to wake him up.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asks sleepily.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” Silence falls between them for a few, awkward moments. “I’m sorry about reacting how I did. I was just… shocked.”

“I understand,” she says, looking at the wall across from them so she didn’t have to meet his eye. “We can go our separate ways in the morning.”

“Or we can keep going together.”

She rolls over onto her side to look at him, surprise mixed with apprehension clear on her face. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re still you, no matter what the Elders did.”

She loops an arm around his shoulders and leans in to kiss him.

After another day of rest, they move on from the haven and continue forwards. While they doubt they will see the Warlock again soon, neither of them want to risk endangering anyone else.

Surprisingly, Tatiana finds that travelling is easier now with the truth out. She doesn’t have to keep lying to John and that takes a massive weight off of her shoulders. If asked, she would not be able to find the words to express how grateful she is to him in any language she knows.

Secretly, she does not think she could stand being alone once more.

Nonetheless, John still insists on treating wounds as soon as they are able, despite her healing curse.

They get ambushed by some troopers about a day’s journey from the next haven. The troopers aren’t difficult to take care of, but they still come away with a few scrapes themselves, and a bullet in Tatiana’s leg.

She vomits when she rolls up her pant leg at his insistence. From her knee down, her skin is painted a sickly orange.

Like a saint, John holds her through it. He cleans, disinfects, and bandages the wound himself so that she does not have to look. Most importantly, he does not question it. They have discussed what has happened enough to know that even if she had an explanation, he didn’t want to hear the details either.

In the morning, she tears the bandage off to reveal nothing. The muscle is no longer visible, no scar mars the wound, and the new flesh is not even tender. They only had the memory of something horrifically wrong.

He kisses her, a gentle reminder that they are getting through this together, not matter what.

It’s comforting, but she cannot help but to worry about _next time._ They grab their packs and set off, at least glad that no one at the haven will have any reason to distrust her more.

John takes over at the haven when they arrive like usual. Since the reveal, he’d become quicker at deflecting any questions about the details of the travels and of their short stays, and questions about the shadow of the Chosen that linger over them. She is happy to let him do the talking and take over running operations, even if she does not participate in them herself. It brings them a fragile harmony, but it's theirs.

It works to earn them the trust of the havens, and eventually rumors of a new hope for the resistance. They don't waste time in hunting it down.


End file.
